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Art by Betina Continuado

We’d like to alert you to a newly discovered breed of distinctly male jackassery. You might see him at Burning Man in a few years, but for now Malasimbo will have to do. Think of him as the millennial Deepak Chopra. Let’s call him the Starboy.

Fuelled by cans of Red Bull and cosmic energy waves, the Starboy is what happens when pseudo-scientific hippie rhetoric converges with contemporary dudebro sensibilities. Its other names include: Magic Johnson, the Chakrabro, and Jung Money.

The Starboy doesn’t see himself as a citizen of his own country. He sees himself as a citizen of the world.

For the Starboy, every business is contaminated by capitalist processes. Every business, except streetwear. Streetwear is forever pure.

The Starboy is attracted to Japanese characters embroidered on shirts or superimposed on vaporware macro images. Doesn’t know what they mean. Basically the millennial equivalent of a non-Chinese person getting a Chinese symbol on his bicep just ‘cause it looks cool. “This means wisdom,” he utters, then flexes.

Either the Starboy is polyamorous or resents the social construct of monogamy. He resents you for not letting him f*** around.

“I’m not a feminist, pare. I’m a humanist / equalist / egalitarian.”

Astrology, that’s superstition for the people. Folk tales, you can pass down to your children. But the Starboy, oh boy. For someone so terminally chill, the Starboy has no difficulty believing in obscure theosophical concepts, illuminati conspiracies, or secret lizard people societies. “It’s the government, bro,” he’ll say, then not vote.

The next time a Starboy tells you to be logical, ask him to define logic. Watch him stammer.

“I just tell it like it is, pare.”“Then what is it?”“… It’s hard to explain, pare.”

No Bad Vibes Allowed is what it says on the sign of the Starboy treehouse.

He has seen every Bruce Lee movie. He tells you to be like water.

The Starboy’s dream date consists of rolling a fat joint. Either at La Union or your place.

At least the softboy tries to be an ally. At least the fuccboi knows how to behave around your parents.

The Starboy will stay in college for maybe five or six years until he decides it’s just not for him, y’know? He’ll take a gap year to try and find himself. He will make his parents spend more than they have to.

The Starboy always has a glassy look in his eye. When the Starboy works, he is not focused on his projects but distracted by them.

If you find yourself trying to calmly explain your frustrations with the Starboy, he will not address your arguments directly. He will sidetrack, distract, throw a few rhetorical curveballs until you forget what you were arguing about in the first place.

The Starboy de-politicizes and de-historicizes. The Starboy tone-polices.

The Starboy wants you to be happy. The Starboy however insists that there is a correct, enlightened way to happiness.